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Snippet #2789721

located in Fódlan, a part of Fire Emblem: Apotheosis, one of the many universes on RPG.

Fódlan

A continent divided into three different factions: The Adrestian Empire, The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Amalthea von Kreuz Character Portrait: Mercer von Riegan Character Portrait: Cyril Eisner Character Portrait: Vridel von Hresvelg Character Portrait: Jeralt's Journal
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I.Y. 1185 - Ethereal Moon - Tuesday the 30th
Bandit Camp - Morning - Light Snow
Cyril Eisner


Though their first day's march had been unexpectedly fruitless when the bandits left the camp Reynard and Devon had found, the two were able to track them back to a much larger base of operations. It was hidden past part of the forest, on the Imperial side of Garreg Mach, or rather the side you had to come through when entering via the only route from the Empire to the Monastery. It was distinct from the routes in one would use from Faerghus or Leicester—which was interesting in and of itself. Cyril wasn't convinced that these bandits weren't in fact Imperial army deserters of some kind, who'd stayed behind in hopes of easy pickings once the main army had left and wound up finding that banditry suited them.

Still, it didn't really matter. The monastery needed defending, and they were in the way of that with the constant harassment and attempts to kill the defenders. What was more, being rid of them would free his friends to help one another again. That was reason enough, right now, especially when the stakes were so very high.

Cyril used the Arrow of Indra more as a walking stick than anything, but he was strong enough to keep pace with the others with the aid, at least. As soon as the month changed; he'd begin training again in earnest. He didn't know how long he'd last, really, how long this new iteration of life would go, and part of him didn't really care. But still... he had his friends. Most of them, at least, and that was enough to live for, while he was still of use to them. He tried to focus on that, even though sometimes he felt emptier than he ever had. Emptier even than he had been before he met them.

Even if he was only a weak husk at the moment, he could almost feel himself brimming with magic, and that had to count for something.

The bandit hideout loomed ahead, in the ruined village that had once shared the name of the monastery. Reynard's house had been here, and the Spindlethorn. He wondered, for an absurd moment, where Miss Violet and her friends were now, but something told him they, at least, were fine, even if they'd had to move elsewhere.

The same would not be true for the bandits.

Cyril was halfway to parting his lips to give instructions when he remembered, quite abruptly, that he was no one's teacher anymore, no matter what they still called him. So instead he turned to Mercer. “What's the plan?"

Mercer's brows were furrowed slightly as he seemed to be assessing the situation. He glanced around a few times as if trying to see where things were, and what he was going to do. When he seemed satisfied, he turned Deirdre and Sofia, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit.

“I want you two and Sylvi to take the left side," he stated before his eyes went to Devon and Reynard. “Devon and Rey, I want you two to hang back, and control the situation in anyway you see. You both are the shadows," he stated before his eyes went towards Cyril and Thea.

“The two of us will go head first, while you," he motioned towards Cyril, “support us from behind with your magic. If we can draw the most attention towards us, it'll give Sylvi, Deir, and Sofia the chance to flank them. It'll also give Rey and Dev the necessary means to pick off whoever they can before they have to resort to a much more up-close encounter."

“But, Mercer, isn't that a little dangerous? Just the three of us charging head first?" Thea stated, a little concerned with Mercer's plan. He shook his head, though.

“We want them to think we don't have the necessary numbers to take them out. Make them think they have the advantage. People get careless when they are arrogant about their abilities to win what appears to be just three people attacking them," he spoke, giving his reasoning behind the tactic, it seemed. “They'll be caught off guard when Sylvi, Sofia, and Deirdre appear, which will give Devon and Reynard the perfect opportunity to shrink their numbers during their confusion."

Cyril nodded, feeling a flicker of pride almost in spite of himself. He knew little of the credit was really his: Mercer had been clever before he set foot at the Officer's Academy, and like the other Golden Deer, Manuela had been his primary instructor. But still, he was proud of him, and of what small role he had played in the younger man's shift from young noble to surehanded battlefield commander.

Cracking his knuckles, he nodded simply. Devon and Reynard melted into shadows and underbrush, bows already drawn. Sofia let the others away to try to get into flank position, but in order to preserve the surprise they'd have to move only after the frontal assault team had the bandits' attention, and hustle once they did.

Once he, Thea, and Mercer were in position, Cyril hummed softly. “Might as well get their attention." Calling up the magic within himself, he summoned the familiar long-range lightning spell into his hand, and pointed it for a spot in the ground not too far in front of the larger building the bandits were supposedly using as a headquarters. The mayor's house, it had once been, situated on the hill near the edge of the forested area.

A bolt of lightning blasted the spot, kicking up dust and debris, raining clumps of sod and dirt back down on the ground. The manor's door flew open with a bang almost immediately, two armed men stepping out, but Cyril was ready, and threw more bolts at them, striking each square in the chest and dropping them, twitching, to the ground.

He supposed that worked.

A few more armed men came pouring out of the door, seemingly alarmed and ready for a battle, however; Mercer dropped the first one with an arrow between the eyes. He shifted the bow back into its spot on his back, and withdrew his sword, charging forward, followed by Thea. She had Amyr ready in her hands as they both engaged with a bandit. It seemed that Mercer's sword skills had improved as he easily blocked an attack aimed for him, however; he seemed to be moving a bit more recklessly. Moving with uncanny speed as he went from one bandit to the next.

Thea seemed to be holding her own fairly well, dropping a bandit before she engaged another one, however; it seemed that more and more bandits poured out of the building, and were surrounding both Thea and Mercer. Some of them sneered in Thea's direction, laughing and saying things about having fun once they'd dealt with Mercer, however; her hands gripped Amyr tightly before she threw it straight at them, hitting one of the bandits square in the chest before she summoned the axe back to her. Mercer had drawn his bow as well, quickly fitting an arrow to it and dropped another bandit.

“Can't have fun when you're dead," he stated in a menacing voice. He dropped his bow, though, in favor of his sword again, engaging with a bandit as Thea tried to cover him. He was fighting two of them at once, and Thea engaged with the a third that tried to attack from behind. Mercer still hadn't given the signal for Sofia's group to flank, yet, as if he were anticipating more bandits to appear.

Cyril filled in the gaps as well as he could with magic, firing precise, heavy bolts of lightning and darkness into the fray. It felt as though it built in him as much as he let it go, until his skin was all but buzzing with the feel of it. His face was blank, though, his motions ruthless.

Two bandits had the bright idea to try and charge him. They wound up more smears on the ground than corpses proper, and none of the others attempted the same. It made his job at once easier than harder, but it felt like half his job was dealing with the fact that Mercer couldn't be bothered to try that hard to avoid damage. Thea was being properly defensive for what they were supposedly doing, but the way he'd just dropped his bow was nudging past reckless into stupid, and Cyril had to work to make sure it didn't come back to bite him, especially when some of the reinforcements came with distance weapons.

Thea was doing her best to keep to defend herself, now, switching into a more defensive role than offensive. She was dealing with three bandits, now, and Mercer seemed to be fixated on his own opponents.

“Mercer!" Thea shouted, as she tried to deflect a lance thrusted at her. She managed, but it caused her to lose her footing, and she fell backwards. Her eyes had widened when the lance came back for her, however; an axe managed to deflect it just before it could reach her. Sylvi stood in front of Thea as Mercer kept pushing forward. She glanced in Mercer's direction, shook her head, and helped Thea to her feet as Deirdre covered them as best as she could with a few wind spells.

With Sylvi and Deirdre on the field, it looked like Mercer's plan of a flank was lost. They were engaged on the field, now, but it seemed to be that there was no end to the bandits. Either Mercer didn't seem to care, or his thoughts were elsewhere as he tried to get a majority of the bandits's attention on himself. As if he were trying to get them all to go after him.

Arrows flew into the mix from Devon and Reynard, too, but they were much less effective shot from the sides than they would have been from behind, if the flank had been possible. Sofia planted herself on the front line with Thea, using her tower shield to protect one of Mercer's sides. The tight, weary look on her face suggested it was something she'd done in a similar fashion more than once.

Cyril knew they were stronger than these bandits. But the loss of the tactical advantage meant they might well take heavy losses proving it, and he dug in for a long fight. The bandit leader was still hanging back, content to fire arrows at the group in a cluster of archers—

Until, that was, a wo dao erupted from his chest, laced with the crimson of his blood. It abruptly disappeared again right after. The first bowman to react got a solid boot to his chest for noticing—the other was taken out by a blinding blast of magic before he even registered what happened.

Behind the fallen men stood a familiar face, wearing an unfamiliar expression.

Vridel had let his hair grow long, white sheets perhaps to his waist pulled high into a bright tail that trailed behind him as he darted for the next cluster of archers. His armor was hexagonal mail over pristine white; the metal gleamed such a silver as to be almost mirrored. It actually seemed to serve a practical purpose—it was difficult to look at him directly for too long when he was casting, as he reflected the luminescence of his own spells.

A half-dozen more archers fell to a combination of bladework and magic, and by that time, the startling reinforcement combined with the pressure from the front had broken the bandit lines; Cyril felt no compunctions firing lightning into the backs of the few who tried to retreat. There was no point letting them get away to regroup and attack again later, after all.

When the last had fallen, Vridel flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed it, turning hard eyes towards the group. And that was the part that wasn't familiar: his jaw was set, lips nearly curled in a snarl. He sneered at a bandit who tried weakly to move, thrusting a hand downwards to blast him point-blank with a spell. He didn't move after that.

Only when his eyes fell on Thea did his expression seem to soften into something more familiar.

“It seems I'm late," he said, a soft rasp in his voice. Disuse, Cyril thought. “My apologies."

Thea looked like she'd seen a ghost, and much like when she'd first seen Cyril that night. She was glued to her spot, and for a moment, it looked like she'd forgotten how to breath. Blood smeared her face and streaked her hair, but if that bothered her at all, it didn't show. Even Vridel's appearance didn't seem to phase her, however; she took a hesitant step forward, as if she were afraid that Vridel would disappear if she moved any closer.

“Vi..." she spoke so softly it was as if she'd said nothing at all. A hand reached towards Vridel, but she dropped it to her side. In what seemed like an instant, she ran towards him, arms flinging around him as if she'd just seen the most precious thing in the world, and didn't want to let go. Her shoulders were shaking, and it wasn't hard to hear the quiet sobs that left her.

He returned it, a stricken look on his face, as though his heart were breaking. “Thea," he murmured, seemingly at a loss. It only prompted him to hold her more tightly.

“Better late than never," Deirdre spoke, furrowing her brows in Mercer's direction. He didn't say anything, and couldn't seem to bring himself to glance at either Thea or Vridel. He looked relieved to have heard Vridel, but he made no motion to move forward or say anything at all. He looked lost for words, if anything.

Not for the first time and not for the last, Cyril wondered how much of the blame for this could be laid at his feet. They were broken, all of them, in one way or another. It was impossible not to see, for he who had known them so well when they were whole and happy. And he could not help but wonder what would have been different, if he'd managed not to fall off that cliff. If he'd evaded Thales's curse, been able to summon the Divine Pulse during his plummet—anything. If he'd somehow not failed them all.

The thought sat as heavily in his heart as it did every time, and he sighed softly. “We should get back to the monastery," he said quietly. He hadn't missed the flicker of surprise on Vridel's face when he registered Cyril's presence, but it was probably better to wait and explain everything when they were back to shelter, at least. Vridel wasn't as thin or haggard as Cyril, but he looked like he hadn't eaten enough in a few weeks, at least.

Maybe. Maybe now things would begin to turn for the better.